


Half Decent Port and Shortbread

by SerialObsessor (ibelieveinturtles)



Series: Donuts in My Bra and Other Stories [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 150 follower celebration, Christmas fic, F/M, Fic Giveaway, QuickTaser, Santa Claus - Freeform, Tumblr Prompts, celebration prompts, gift fics, the night before Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinturtles/pseuds/SerialObsessor
Summary: Santa wants to know what Darcy would like in her stocking this year





	Half Decent Port and Shortbread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts).



> Written for my 150 follower giveaway on Tumblr
> 
> Dresupi askedDarcy/Pietro, B4! EEEE CONGRATS, DARLING! :D
> 
> beta’d by the fabulous [phoenix_173>](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_173/pseuds/phoenix_173)

****

 

**Half Decent Port and Shortbread**

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

After a month of playing Elf to Santa down at the mall, Darcy was exhausted. No matter how many years she'd been doing this for, and how much she loved it, she was always relieved when it was over.

  
This last week had been especially exhausting, although she wasn't sure why. Their regular Santa had been in an accident and they'd had to call in an emergency replacement for the last three days. The new Santa was a delightful man - in fact, she didn't think she'd ever come across a man more suited to be Santa than this one - but a little odd. No one knew what his non-Santa name was, for example. He hadn't told them.

  
As she sat in the staff room for a five minute breather before starting her long commute home, Santa came in, still dressed in his red suit and hat. The beard was all his own.

  
“Darcy! How are you my dear? I thought you'd gone home already?”

  
“Just putting my feet up for a minute before I go,” she replied. “I've got an hour long subway ride to get home, and I'll probably have to stand for most it.”

  
“Well, I won't keep you,” the old man said jovially. “I'm sure you want to hang your stocking before you go to sleep. Yes?”

  
Darcy chuckled. “I wish. I haven't hung a stocking for years.”

  
“Why ever not?” Santa looked almost shocked. “How else can I bring you what you need this year?”

  
Darcy grinned and played along. “But Santa, you only leave presents for children, remember? I'm 26 years old, I'm too old for Santa.”

  
Santa sighed, loudly and with passion. “Oh, my dear Darcy - no one's too old for Santa,” he declared with what Darcy could only describe as a jolly smile, and a twinkle in his eye. “A present doesn't have to be a tangible thing, you know. Perhaps… Santa brings other things for grown ups?”

  
“Like what? Hope and patience?”

  
Santa’s eyes twinkled at her. “Couldn't everyone use a little hope and patience?” he asked. “What about compassion? Tolerance?” He paused ever so briefly. “Love?”

  
“You know what, Santa? You're right.” Darcy climbed to her feet. “I could probably use more of all of those.”

  
He turned around to leave, but paused in the doorway.

  
“If you did have a stocking to hang up, Darcy, what would you really want?”

  
Darcy paused to think. There were lots of things she wanted, and even more that she needed. “I don't really know,” she mused. “I mean - my life would certainly be a lot easier if I didn't have any student loans left, and I just know that my laptop is going to die right at the most inopportune moment, but I think, maybe, that what I'd really like - in the words of the great Freddie Mercury - is somebody to love.”

  
Santa nodded. “A popular request, that one,” he said. “Well, time for me to get on with it. Merry Christmas, Darcy. I'll see you later then!”

  
Darcy smiled and waved goodbye. “Merry Christmas, Santa!”

 

☆☆☆

 

Two hours later she finally opened the door to her flat. The subway journey had been better than she hoped, having lucked out when a handsome young man with the most amazing silver hair had given up his seat for her. He hadn't even tried to grope her as he brushed past, just made a comment about how she must be exhausted after helping Santa prepare for Christmas, and how guilty he would feel if he didn't give up his seat for one of Santa's elves.

  
That comment had puzzled her until she realised her coat had fallen open to reveal her elf costume.

  
She'd felt the blush steal over her cheeks as she mumbled something about how everyone has to make a living somehow. She watched him surreptitiously from behind her phone screen until he'd gotten off two stops later.

  
Walking home from the subway, she couldn't stop thinking about what Santa had said, and on a not-so-sudden impulse, she stopped at the grocery store and bought herself a cheap Christmas stocking, and a packet of chocolate chip shortbread.

  
Her grandmother had always insisted they only left shortbread out for Father Christmas.

  
Then she'd stopped in at the liquor store and bought a halfway decent bottle of port as well. In her experience, Santa deserved more than a warm glass of milk that had been sitting out for who-knows-how-long. Plus she could use something to warm herself up too.

  
She hung her coat on a hook behind the door, kicked off her shoes, and went straight to her tiny kitchen. She pulled out a plate and arranged several pieces of shortbread on it. She didn't have any proper port glasses but she did have several promotional Nutella glasses in various themes, so she used one of those for the port.

  
It took a while to decide where to put the stocking. She didn't have a fireplace, and there weren't any hooks on the wall she could use. Her Christmas decorations consisted of a small fibre optic tree on the bookshelf, and some homemade bead angels arranged in amongst the books. There was a scraggly old wreath on the other coat hook, and a string of lights hung around the edge of the mirror on her bedroom wall.

  
After several minutes of indecision, she cleared off her tiny dining table, spread it with her best (only) table cloth, and arranged the plate, glass, and stocking to her satisfaction.

  
Then she heated up yesterday's leftovers, poured herself a glass of the port, and flopped on the couch and turned on the television, and watched Arthur Christmas while she ate her dinner. By the time she finished eating, she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. She had a short, inner argument with herself about needing to shower and sleep versus more port and watching the end of the movie. Port and movie won.

  
She woke up an indeterminate time later. There was someone in her apartment.

  
She froze, mind racing as she tried to decide what to do. Her taser was in her bag, which she'd left on the floor of the kitchen, and she'd only gone to one self defence class before quitting.

  
She frowned as she heard the distinct sound of glass clinking against plate, and shot up with no further thought for her own safety.

  
“Hey, that's for Santa, asshole!” she snapped.

  
The figure stilled. She couldn't see any details in the dim light - wait, hadn't she left the lights on? - except that he was tall, definitely not Santa-shaped, and wearing what looked like a red patterned suit.

  
“I... am Santa?” a slightly accented male voice said, as if he weren't actually quite sure.

  
Darcy was easing her way across the loungeroom to the light switch.

  
“You're not fat enough to be Santa,” was not what she'd planned on saying.

  
“I’m working on that,” he said, slowly turning around, a piece of shortbread halfway to his mouth.

  
She reached out and flicked the light on. “You're the guy from the train!” she exclaimed. “Did you follow me?”

  
“Of course not!” he said, his body stiffening with indignation. “Why would I do that?”

  
“I don't know!” Darcy said. “I mean, I know what usually happens when strange dudes follow women home, but-”

  
“I told you, I am Santa,” the man interrupted her. “I bring the gifts.”

  
“You are NOT Santa,” Darcy argued, hands waving around in emphasis. “Santa is old and fat and wears a fancy red suit. You're young and hot and wearing-” she paused as she actually looked at what he was wearing. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  
“A fancy red suit!” he said, standing up straight and opening his arms wide before bringing his hands in to straighten his already perfectly straight tie.

  
“A different fancy red suit,” Darcy said, a stubborn tilt to her jaw as she crossed her arms across her chest.

  
“I like this suit,” he insisted, looking down at himself. “Do you think it will catch on?”

  
“No.” Darcy began to edge towards the kitchen. She wasn't sure how she'd get it without being obvious, but at least she'd be closer to her taser. “And you're still not Santa Claus.” She jabbed her finger towards him to punctuate the point.

  
Not Santa wrinkled his brow at her words. “No,” he said. “I am not. But one day, I will be.”

  
Darcy paused. This guy was delusional. “Really?” she asked. “And how is that going to happen?” If she could just keep him talking…

  
“He is my father,” Not Santa announced. “Tonight I am helping out, and one day, I will take over.”

  
Darcy snorted.

  
Then giggled.

  
“That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,” she said between giggles.

  
“I was not expecting to be insulted when I came here tonight,” he said, taking a few steps towards her.

  
“Nuh, uh, uh. You stay right there Not-Santa!” She darted for her bag, pulled out her taser, turned, and fired.

  
Between one blink and the next, he disappeared.

  
“What the ever-loving f-”

  
“One day, Darcy-” He suddenly appeared at her side and gently took the taser out of her hands. His warm breath on her neck sent a shiver down her spine. “-you're going to hurt someone with that thing. And my name is Pietro.”

  
“How did you do that?” she asked, spinning away from him. “Hang on - how do you know my name?”

  
“I told you - tonight I am Santa! Santa knows everyone's name.”

  
“And the disappearing thing?” Darcy was surprised to realise that there was a tiny spark of belief glowing in her mind.

  
“I can move very quickly,” he said, putting her taser down on the counter. “I could have left before you finished standing up, and you would have thought the noise you heard was just a figment of your imagination. “ He gave a small shrug, almost as if he was embarrassed.

  
Darcy considered this information. “So, why didn't you?” she asked, shifting from foot to foot and tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

  
“I recognised you from the train, and then I realised you were the girl-”

  
He cut himself off.

  
“The girl whaaaaahhaahaaaat?” Darcy demanded with an unexpected yawn.

  
“I… cannot say,” he said, apologetically shrugging his shoulders, and very carefully not laughing.

  
Darcy narrowed her eyes at him as another thought squirmed it's way into her brain. An unlikely, ridiculous, unbelievable thought.

  
“Oh my God,” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth and turning around. “Oh. My. God. Nope. No way. Holy shit.” She spun around, stepping right into Pietro’s personal bubble as she stared into his eyes. “He was the real Santa, wasn't he? The replacement we got after Bob had his accident.”

  
Pietro’s face paled. “I didn't say anything!” he insisted.

  
“You didn't need to.” Darcy jammed a finger into his chest. “If it wasn't true you'd be laughing right now, not squirming around like a kid who just got caught stealing candy.”

  
“I haven't stolen anything! I do the opposite of stealing!”

  
“So you say.” Darcy sighed and rubbed her eyes. Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy again. “He practically told us himself.”

  
He muttered something fierce sounding under his breath, then caught himself and smiled at her. Darcy blinked at him, and yawned again.

  
“So what are you really doing here?” Darcy asked, turning the conversation back to its original purpose.

  
Pietro grinned wide enough to swallow the world as Darcy yawned again, her eyelids battling to stay open.

  
“I bring the gifts!” he said again. “Then I eat the food and drink the drink, and then…” he paused dramatically, and Darcy found herself stepping forward in anticipation. He moved towards her at the same time until they were toe to toe.

  
Darcy blinked at him, fighting the yawn that was growing. “And then?” she asked, slightly breathless from anticipation, and exhaustion.

  
He leaned in until his nose was almost touching hers. The growing yawn chose that moment to break free, and she barely heard him say, “And then I leave,” in a very regretful tone of voice.

  
She blinked, and in the microseconds her eyes were closed, there was a gentle rush of air, a slight breeze over her face, and when the blink finished, she was waking up in her bed, sun shining in through the crack in the curtain, right into her face.

  
She rolled over and groaned, dragging the pillow over head to block out the sun. Burrowing into the covers, she was ready to go back to sleep when she remembered her dream.

  
Her very vivid dream.

She sat up, throwing the covers off as she turned to place her feet on the floor… and realised she was still wearing her elf costume!

  
After a moment of shocked stupefaction, she sprang off the bed and raced for the door.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaron Taylor Johnson in a fancy Christmas Suit courtesy of @rosiedeplume [rosiedeplume](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rosiedeplume/pseuds/rosiedeplume). Thank you Rosie!!!! 
> 
> All other pics courtesy of Google
> 
> My Tumblr, if you're interested, is  
> [ibelieveinturtles](http://ibelieveinturtles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
